


i'll tell you how the sun rose

by ettasig



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-09
Updated: 2019-08-01
Packaged: 2019-11-14 09:24:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18049862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ettasig/pseuds/ettasig
Summary: No matter how far they run, there's always one thing that reunites them - their little family.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> flashbacks are in italics (:

  _I'll tell you how the sun rose,_  
_A ribbon at a time._

 _The steeples swam in amethyst,_  
_The news like squirrels ran._  
  
_The hills untied their bonnets,_  
_The bobolinks begun._  
_Then I said softly to myself,_  
_"That must have been the sun!"_  
  
_But how he set, I know not._  
_There seemed a purple stile._  
_Which little yellow boys and girls_  
_Were climbing all the while_  
  
_Till when they reached the other side,_  
_A dominie in gray_  
_Put gently up the evening bars,_  
_And led the flock away._  

– Emily Dickinson

He vigorously shakes the rain off and folds up his umbrella before hurriedly stepping passed the automatic doors of the supermarket. It’s empty probably because the weather has gotten drastically cooler and it’s been pouring for the last few days. Nobody really goes out to the shops on a Friday night anyway. It's most likely a good thing since Stiles is only here to pick up a few things; he needs bread and milk, and toilet paper. Perhaps also a few snacks won’t hurt either. He’s been working non-stop at the station for the last fortnight and a half so treating himself tonight of all nights doesn’t sound like such an inappropriate thing to do.

“Why the hell do they put it so high?” He thinks to himself as he’s standing on the tips of his toes in the corner of the snack aisle, his fingers poking at the bottom of a Pringles tube. He’s not the shortest of men (he’s quite average actually) but this is just ridiculous. And just before the container falls into his hands, he feels a quick and sharp pain to his hip and almost stumbles to a shelf, dropping his basket of items in the process.

“Oh my god. I’m so sorry!” He hears someone say, a hidden mixture mischief and worry underpinned in their voice. He swears he looks up so swiftly that he thinks his neck snaps and when he does, his vision is filled with the sight of Malia Tate.

She moves her shopping cart beside her and reaches to grab him before he tumbles completely. He straightens up after a bit and chuckles under his breath reassuringly as she pats him.

“Stiles! Oh god, I’m so sorry. I should’ve been more careful,” she repeats profusely. She says it once more as she’s looking up at him from underneath her long lashes, and good god, it’s not like he could ever forget how she knocks the wind out of him every time she looks at him. In the back of his mind, he wonders if it’s at all odd that he’s so excited to run into his ex-wife. 

It definitely is.

He chuckles again, though this time, she does too and the sound that comes out of her mouth is pretty much the best thing ever. He hasn’t heard that in a while. “Malia,” he laughs, exasperated, reaching out to her again and clasping her waist in a hug. Her arms reach upwards and in that single moment, her strong, thin hands circled around his shoulders feels something like coming home.

When they’ve let go of each other, he asks, surprised, “I didn’t think you still lived here.”

“Yeah…” She smiles, taking her time answering. “I’m all over the place but I come back now and then.”

“That’s good,” he tells her, nodding. He steps back a bit and looks at her properly for the first time. She’s wearing dark wash skinny jeans and a burgundy padded coat over a sweater with her signature hiking boots that his dad got her for Christmas a few years back. His eyes skim over her lips, pink and full, before darting up to her cheeks, flushed with embarrassment.

“You’re staring,” she tells him amused, an eyebrow raised.

Stiles clears his throat and his vision clears. He thinks he may have just ruined everything until he sees the hint of a grin appear on her face. “Am I?”

She chuckles, shaking her head as she swivels the cart, inexplicably ushering him to walk with her. “Pringles again, Stiles? Thought I told you how they’re not the best for you,” she tells him, feigning disappointment.

“Hey! It’s cheat day.”

She laughs.

———

They spend up to an hour in the store, winding through aisles they don’t even need anything from. She sounds a lot more mellow and exhausted since the last time he saw her but it’s just nice to talk to her again. They hadn’t since they’d sold the house after the divorce two years ago and had to move their stuff out of it before the new owners came to move in.

By the time they walk out of the store, it’s late out and whatever light was left before is now disappearing. They talk a little while longer as he holds his umbrella over the two of them, walks her to her car and helps her load her groceries in the trunk. It’s common stance; he feels himself missing this small part of their routine.

He follows closely behind her as she slides into the driver’s seat and leans against the side of her car. She grabs his wrist and squeezes it tenderly. “It was nice to see you Stiles.”

“It was nice to see you too,” he tells her earnestly. A surge of confidence strikes in his chest as she turns away and prepares to close the door. “Wait Mal. If you’re not doing anything tomorrow night, maybe you can come over to my place for dinner? I’ll make something good.”

“You sure about that?” she giggles when he rolls his eyes, jokingly. “Forgive me for being a little weary of your cooking Stiles.”

“Oh c’mon! It’ll be good. Trust me.” Malia scoffs but smiles at him anyway. “What do you say?”

“Ok,” she agrees, shyly.

He grins giddily, writing his address on his receipt before handing it to her.

“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

“See you tomorrow,” he says, trying in vain to keep his voice even, as he pushes the car door shut and watches her drive off.

A little after she leaves, he’s left in the parking lot, holding his umbrella over his head. He hears his heart beat louder than the pouring rain.


	2. Chapter 2

He decides that wearing a tie is a bit too much for an at-home dinner as he’s standing in the mirror. After all, this is not a date. It’s nothing really. Just dinner. Casual dinner. Like dinner with a friend. Except it’s not, it’s with his ex-wife… who he’s still desperately in love with, who he has every intention of winning back…

Right. Nothing much at all.

From the bathroom, he hears the oven timer in the kitchen ding at exactly seven o’clock. She should be here by now. He’s made them a venison pizza. Something simple and quick which he certainly knows she’ll like especially because it’s deer. 

He darts across the kitchen and living area, blowing out the tea light candles he laid out on every surface. After he’s done that, he hurries back into the bathroom and anxiously straightens out his button down between his fingers and smooths his hair. No matter how much or how little product he’s used, he can never get it to stand up the way he wants. He figures Malia doesn’t mind. She never used to when she ran her fingers through it and traced the line of his jaw with her fingertips. He misses it. 

The doorbell rings at a quarter past. He waits a few seconds too long before he opens the front door.

“Hi,” she says, softly, a touch louder than a whisper. “Sorry, I’m late. I brought wine?” She holds the bottle up in sincere apology, almost pleading for his forgiveness for this benign offence. As if she’d need to plead at all. How silly of her. He’d do anything she asked. It was always for better or for worse when it came to her.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, stepping aside, allowing her to slide past him. Better late than not at all.

His arms fit around her middle and his head finds the crook of her neck automatically, all muscle memory. Her hands glide up his back, holding him just as tightly. She pulls away after a moment and giggles a little when she catches him staring. He never could help it.

She is stunning wearing a wine-coloured slip dress under a leather biker jacket with Chelsea boots. Her hair is slightly damp from the rain, with a chunk of it loose from her messy side braid. He shakes his head as if trying to clear it. “You look beautiful Malia.”

She looks down at herself, self-consciously, a blush spreading across her face for a reason he’ll never understand. But she’s impossibly prettier when she blushes and it makes his heart beat twice as fast. “Oh.. thanks. I didn’t know what to wear,” she tells him shyly, tucking a loose strand of bronze hair behind her ear.

“No, no. It’s perfect–You’re perfect.” Though it comes out naturally, the look she gives him makes his whole face turn beet red. “Wait, no. I mean—“

“Stiles, it’s fine,” she laughs. “Shall we eat?”

He leads her to the kitchen and pulls out her seat. He pulls out the pizza and she tells him she’s surprised he even remembered. How could he forget? They eat and drink and talk about their lives, their work and everything except each other. They move to the couch when they’ve finished and he watches her lick the chocolate off of her fingers after dessert, the smile that she gives him confirming that some things never change.

“…so that’s how I ended up fostering a Labrador for nearly a month. It really ruined everything in the house and I really thought Derek was going to kill me… I just couldn’t stand by,” she says, huffing into her glass of wine.

“A little wolf.”

“Yeah,” she says softly. “Little wolf.”

His mind flashes back to that single memory as he meets her eyes. She hesitates a bit as she bites her lip and he can’t seem to break their stare. He knows exactly what she’s doing even if she doesn’t mean to. She knows she can make him go crazy.

So he leans forward gently and brings his hand up to her face. His thumb smoothes over the apple of her cheek and moves down towards her chin, tugging her lower lip out from underneath her teeth. Then he slides his lips over hers, tasting the bittersweet flavour of chocolate and wine against his tongue. She moves herself closer, until she’s almost straddling his lap, her fingers gliding up his shoulders before intertwining at the nape of his neck. His other hand runs itself along the length of her back and he feels her suppress a shiver completely unrelated to the weather.

She sighs when he breaks it briefly, leaning his forehead into hers, the tips of their noses a gossamer thread apart. “I’m still in love with you,” he whispers and pauses before he captures her lips in his again.

The kiss slows, softens, a low groan escapes his throat. Then without warning, Malia pulls away, her face falling slightly, as if she’d gotten out of a daze. She places her hand on his chest hesitantly as she removes herself off of him, clearing her throat. “I can’t do this, Stiles,” she tells him, mournfully, looking off into the distance past him.

He turns around then, finally realising what she’s staring at. It’s a framed photo of their little family on the side table — her, him and their son. He swallows a lump down his throat. In the photo, they’re sitting on a park bench with his arms around her and their son seated on her lap. He was a little over a year old and was beginning to be able to walk on his own.

Stiles looks back at his ex-wife, tears glassed over her eyes as she continues to stare at the photo, completely frozen. “Malia,” he calls her, taking her hand in his. It was stupid of him to try to use whatever this night was as a bandaid for a wound that no bandaid would ever be big enough to heal. But then, there was no proper way to deal with the loss of a child.

After a moment, she squeezes his hand as tears roll down her cheeks. “I’m sorry,” she breathes, tracing her thumb over the silver wedding band on his fourth finger. He knows what she’s doing, using words to explain how she feels. For the first time, he wishes he never taught her that. “I’m sorry,” she repeats. “I don’t want to forget, I could never. He was my son.” He was histoo. “I miss him so much.”

She chokes. “The moment I found out I was pregnant, I could feel him. For nine months, I could feel my baby inside of me and I had no idea who he was, who he was going to be but I just knew that I loved him. He’s my flesh and blood; my body literally made room to create him.” She pauses and sniffles. “But now I don’t even know where he is. It’s been three years and I still don’t what what happened him. What kind of mother am I if I don’t know where my own kid is?”

He remembers back to that horrific morning when they’d woken up to an empty cot and no sign of their baby boy. Whoever took him left no trace behind, making themselves untraceable even with the monitor and security cameras. The whole station and their pack searched everywhere for days, weeks, months. Yet there was not even the slightest clue as to where their son could be. He remembered how strong she was despite the panic, despite the fear, and her endeavour to find him whatever the cost, together.

They were a team after all. And yet they were creatures of habit too, after the first few months running away from each other when things got too difficult. At some point, they’d both run away too long, too far, only to return to what little was left of their marriage. They’d never fallen out of love except in the end, love was always never enough. There were no fights, no drama; the divorce was finalised quickly.

He sees Malia get up to leave abruptly. “Malia,” he calls. “Please. Wait.”

She lets out a breath. “I’m trying to move on, Stiles,” she tells him sternly. “I can’t do that when I’m with you. I’m sorry.”

When she runs out the door, something explodes in his chest, making him weak and fragile, kneeling on the floor of his living room. Hot tears stream violently down his face as he crouches low, his hands red, balled up in fists. Stiles knows well enough what it’s like to lose a family. He just doesn’t know what it’s like to lose a family again.

**:::::::**

_ “One of these days, you’re going to run out of excuses to see me,” Malia says, when she sees him pull open the glass door of the animal clinic, striding unabashedly towards the reception desk where she sits.  _

_ Stiles chuckles, “I hope that day never comes,” he tells her. Despite her rolled eyes, he sees the faint sight of a grin appearing on her face. It makes the one on his grow tenfold. _

_ “So what’s the excuse today?” _

_ “I dropped the little guy off for some tests this morning,” he admits, leaning his arms over the counter. “I think he might’ve caught something from the dog park.” _

_ “Right. Let me see if he’s ready for you” she says, her tone suddenly growing sombre as she disappears to the back room of the animal clinic. After a minute, she reappears around the corner, “He’ll be out in a few.” _

_ Stiles nods, absentmindedly knocking his knuckles on the counter. He hears her sigh, then feels the softness of her skin when she slides her fingers over his fist, squeezing it slightly.  _

_ “He’s going to be okay, Stiles,” she says when he looks up at her, her whole demeanour softening.After a quick moment, she lets go of his hand before clearing her throat and sitting back down, hurriedly busying herself with whatever she was doing before he had arrived at the clinic. _

_ He smirks at her, knowing clearly what she’s thinking. Yet, his eyes never leave her face, scanning the slight flush of her cheeks, the bite on her lips and the way she inhales through her nostrils.  _

_ “You’re staring,” she interrupts him, annoyed. _

_ “I can’t help it. You’re gorgeous.” _

_ And though she tries to hide it, the flush of her cheeks noticeably darkens at that. “Stiles…” she sighs. _

_ He looks her. “What?” _

_ Malia rolls her eyes again, concealing the laughter in her voice when she tells him, “You know what.” _

_ “I’m not sure I do.” _

_ “Have a good one, Mal!” She looks over her shoulder and sees her fellow vet technician walk past the front desk, slinging the strap of his backpack over his side as he winks at her. _

_ She ducks her head almost shyly, letting out a warm-hearted laugh as she waves him off. “See you, Nick.” _

_ Stiles’ eyes follow her gaze. “I never would’ve thought he was your type.” _

_ She laughs again, though this time one of her eyebrows raises. “And you know my type?” _

_ He stares at her for a second longer, before shaking his head, feigning disappointment, “I have somewhat of an idea… But Nick? You and I both know he’s not it. Seems nice but I doubt he’d ever be prepared enough for you to break his heart.” _

_ She snorts, “How do you know I’ll do that?” _

_ It was now his turn to roll his eyes. “C’mon Mal. You don’t have to be a detective to figure that out.” _

_ “You’re not even a detective!”  _

_ He smirks again, “Not yet.” _

_ The sound of someone’s footsteps and the jingle of a dog’s collar coming from the backroom emerges. Scott appears from behind the door, holding a leash with a grumpy beagle attached to it. At the sight of him, the beagle immediately brightens up and dashes towards Stiles, bringing him to his knees, licking and jumping in excitement. _

_ “Finn! Hey buddy!” He laughs, wiping off the slobbery kisses from his face with the back of his sleeve.  _

_ He gets up on his feet long enough for Scott to brief him about Finn’s sickness and collect his medicine. And though Finn seems desperate to get out of the clinic, Stiles remains at the desk waiting, much to Malia’s chagrin. _

_ “Can I help you with anything else, Stiles?” _

_ “You still haven’t told me what ‘what’ is?” he asks, coyly.  _

_ She shakes her head, licking her teeth as she fights off yet another grin. She pauses for a moment before telling him, “It was just a kiss, Stiles.” _

_ “It doesn’t have to be,” he says, seriously, inching closer over the counter.  _

_ She sighs again, “What does a girl have to do to get rid of a guy like you?” _

_ “Let me take you out,” he tells her almost immediately._

_ “You know why we can’t do that…” she replies, blushing. _

_ “I don’t, actually.” _

_ “We’ve done this before, and it didn’t work.” _

_ “Who’s to say it won’t work out this time?” _

_ She stares at him sternly though he smiles anyway. “I can’t believe you.” _

_ “One date.” He inches even closer. “What do you say?”_

_It takes an effort but her lips finally crack into that _ smile _ he loves so much and she mumbles an ‘ok’ just loud enough for him to hear before he’s fully leaning over the counter and planting a quick kiss in the corner of her mouth.  _

_ When he heads out the door, the sound of her laughter rings in his ears and he hears her say before he leaves, “You better not fall in love with me though.” _

_ He smirks to himself and calls out behind him, “Too late.” _


End file.
